


Memoria

by watanuki_sama



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Kaiba doesn't deal with tragedy well, PTSD, Self-induced amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seto Kaiba doesn't deal with tragedy well. It's easier to forget and keep going than to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoria

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 06/08/2011 on ff.net under the penname 'EFAW'.

Seto wakes from dreams of fire and blood with the taste of smoke in his mouth. He shivers when he sits up, running his hands down his arms. His room is abysmally cold. Was his room always so cold?

He rises, paces, just to get the blood moving. Maybe warm up a little. Maybe make his heart stop pounding. He wipes sweat from his forehead.

Just a dream.

He ignores the unease in his stomach and a cold hollow knot in his chest. It was just a dream. A horrible vivid dream borne from a terribly memory, but still just a dream.

Nothing more.

The house is deathly still. In a horror movie, there would be the ominous sound of a ticking clock, whiling away the second and minutes. Seto's clocks are all digital. With no one up and about, the house is as still as a tomb.

Another shiver runs down his spine. He'll have to talk to the housekeepers about the A/C. Having it so cold can't be healthy. Letting out a breath, he turns back to the bed.

The sight of his rumpled sheets and comforter bring another flash of fire and blood, and he recoils, swallowing harshly. He retreats into the bathroom, returning in a red monogrammed robe and matching slippers.

He doesn't look at the bed as he passes. No need to remember any more than he already has. His nights are plagued with enough nightmares as it is. He doesn't need flashbacks in the daytime as well.

When he gets to his lab, he idly glances at the clock. Five twenty. Nearly four hours of sleep. A personal best. Maybe he's getting better. Or maybe his exhaustion is just pulling him down deeper, and it's taking the nightmares longer to drag him out of his sleep.

Either or. He's too tired to decide which it is right now.

Tucking his robe around him, grumbling about the maids and the air conditioning, Seto picks up a screwdriver.

He banishes thoughts of fire and blood with the cold certainty of metal and wires for the next few hours.

**XXXX**

He feels like he's forgetting something important.

**XXXX**

There are anomalies in the mansion, things that don't seem to fit in with the décor, and he can't explain why they're there.

Five different gaming consoles sit in the living room, hundreds of games stacked haphazardly on the shelves. Seto's childhood had no games; Gozaburo didn't allow such a thing. Besides, he would never leave anything of his so disorderly. Yet every time he goes to organize the games, he'll stop, holding the plastic case as ice forms in his chest, and he'll silently replace the game without moving anything else. The one time a maid moved the games to clean, he went off on her until she cried. To this day, he still doesn't understand why he reacted so strongly.

There's a cabinet full of movies next to the full-screen TV. Unlike the games, these are stacked neatly on the shelf, though in no discernable order. They're not organized by title, nor by director or release date, or even by genre. Horror sits next to comedy which resides by adventure. They're not his movies. He has no time for movies. Yet whose else could they be?

In the fridge is an old, half-full bottle of chocolate syrup. Seto doesn't have a sweet tooth. He's not all that fond of chocolate. But he lets it sit there, a year and seven months past its expiration date, because the one time the cook asked if he wanted it thrown away, he grabbed a vase and threw it at the man's head.

In the second left-hand drawer in the desk in his study, there's a folder full of drawings. Scribbled in crayon or colored pencil, the drawings are simplistic, childish, really. They aren't his. Seto has more talent than that when he draws, though his drawings tend to lean towards technical blueprints for his technology. He doesn't recall making these drawings when he was a child. But they're there, and he can't bear to throw them away, so instead he leaves them in the drawer and doesn't look at them.

There's a door down the hall from his own room. It's full of toys and posters and Seto only looked in it once before his heart filled with a blinding, nauseating pain. A maid found him on his knees outside the room, clutching the doorknob and gasping for breath. He hasn't opened the door since.

He wonders who the room belonged to.

He wonders why he can't remember.

Seto Kaiba has never been known to be a coward.

But he can't gather the courage to go into that room and find the answers.

**XXXX**

He remembers a paramedic, shining a light in his eyes and asking if he's alright. He can't hear her words, there's a ringing buzz in his ears, but he can read her lips and understand what she's saying.

He remembers sirens, and people shouting. He remembers seeing fire, blasted into submission by high-powered hoses.

He remembers the paramedic walking away, a reporter coming up. Sticking a microphone in his face. Asking questions.

_Are you alright? How does it feel? Were you scared?_

He remembers thinking that he wasn't scared. Couldn't be scared. Wasn't even quite sure what happened.

He remembers Jonouchi and Yuugi. The blond coming up, shoving the reporter away with a dark angry look on his face. Remembers Yuugi coming up, putting a hand on his arm, asking if he's okay. And he doesn't understand why he wouldn't be, except there's still that ringing in his ears and a strange ache in his chest and a coldness dripping down his face that he eventually realizes are _tears_.

He remembers so much.

But he doesn't remember what _happened_.

He doesn't remember…

What doesn't he remember?

**XXXX**

Seto spends most of his time at work. Work is easy. He doesn't have to think so hard, doesn't have to worry. Doesn't have to fret about anomalies in his home or vague, forgotten memories that unsettle him. The only thing that bothers him is a small stretch of curb outside the building. Even though it's been a long time since the explosion and the city has already cleaned everything up, Seto can still see the faintest black scorch marks, can hear crackling fire and feel the smoke burning his throat.

But if he avoids that small stretch of curb, then work is easy. It's his refuge. It doesn't matter if he's cold here, because people expect him to be cold.

It doesn't matter if he's empty here, because he can pretend to fill the emptiness with so many other things.

He gets to work by eight, held up only because his cook decided Seto absolutely _must_ eat something for breakfast. Every so often, Seto indulges the man, because it's easier than fighting about it.

At work, it's easy to forget he's any sort of uneasy at all. He throws himself into his contracts, spends an hour and a half on a conference call to America, and fires two people. One of those people is his secretary, a young man with dark hair and bright eyes that make the ache in his chest grow.

Frankly, Seto is glad to be rid of the man. He's been waiting for weeks to do just that, ever since he'd hired the guy, and today he had an excuse when the young man misplaced three separate but equally important files.

He really needs someone, someone he can trust, someone with just as much interest in the company and a sharp intellect to keep up with him.

Someone like…

When no name or face comes to him, Seto sighs and goes back to his papers.

Oh well. He'll find someone eventually. There has to be _someone_ in the world who can keep up with him without surpassing him.

He ignores the quiet throbbing in his chest where his heart should be.

**XXXX**

Jounouchi has a lunch break that starts at one thirty. Every day, at one thirty-seven, after walking a block and a half, he steps inside the KaibaCorp lobby. Forty-two seconds later, security calls Seto. (They're getting better. The first day, it took twenty-two minutes before security called him. Now they don't even hesitate when they see the blond coming down the sidewalk.)

It's routine by now. He saves his work, stands, glides past his secretary, and waits for the elevator. The ride down takes anywhere from three to five minutes, depending on where the elevator was called from.

He doesn't even have to step out of the elevator. Jounouchi is standing beside one of the potted plants in the lobby, watching, and those dark honey eyes catch blue the moment silver doors slide open.

After a moment, when Seto doesn't move, Jounouchi nods, shoves his hands into his pockets, and leaves.

It occurs to him that if he wanted to, he could step onto the tiled floor. If he made his way to the front doors and called for the blond, would Jounouchi stop?

If he asked Jounouchi why he came every day, not saying anything, simply standing there until he caught a glimpse of the CEO, what would Jounouchi say? If Seto asked _why_ …?

The mystery consumes him, and for a moment he wants to solve it.

The hollow, empty spot in his chest aches. He thinks that if he asked, Jounouchi would look at him with those sad, dark eyes, and he would tell Seto the truth.

The silver doors slide shut, and the moment passes.

Seto doesn't know what that truth is.

He's fairly certain he doesn't want to hear it.

**XXXX**

He doesn't remember the explosion. The first he learned of it was in the hospital, when the news showed the footage shot by a lucky stalker-esque paparazzi. He watched himself, striding towards his limousine, and it was pure luck that Yuugi and Jounouchi stopped him, Yuugi wanting to know if Seto would like to hang out sometime and Jounouchi just standing there, looking disgruntled at the invitation.

He didn't _see_ the limo blow, it wasn't caught on camera, but an enormous _whoomp_ of air and a great gout of fire filled the entire right side of the screen. And sitting on the thin hospital bed, Seto watched his own head turn, watched him lunge forward towards the explosion with one hand outstretched. Saw Yuugi and Jounouchi grab him, hold him back.

Seto saw his own horrified, grief-stricken face plastered on the television and newspapers for days, a silent scream of denial leaving his throat and tears running down his cheeks. He would have rushed into that fire, would have given up his life for…

For who?

That's the first moment he feels he's forgetting something.

But there's a hollow ache in his chest and every time he tries to remember, he feels like he's splitting apart, so he just forgets instead.

It's easier that way.

**XXXX**

At nine at night, Yuugi is waiting in the lobby when Seto leaves. He wants to be upset. Wants to feel riled about his old rival being _here_ , on _his_ territory.

But he doesn't feel anything at all except pain and emptiness, so he doesn't say anything.

Like Jounouchi at lunch time, this routine with Yuugi has become painfully familiar. Seto can go through the motions on autopilot. He just quietly climbs into Yuugi's car and leans back, not saying a word as the shorter duelist drives him home.

A year ago, he would have been merely offended that Yuugi would even _think_ of driving him home.

Two years ago, he would have laughed in Yuugi's face at the offer.

But in a vague way, he knows something is wrong. There's something he's forgetting, something important, something that reminds him of smoke and fire and blood. He knows he's not okay.

And if Yuugi wants to come by every night and drive him home, just to make sure he's still functioning, then maybe Seto doesn't mind.

It's better than having no one worry at all.

**XXXX**

He hates going home at night. The Kaiba mansion is too big, too empty for just one person. Oh, he has a small staff, but the cook and the maids go home at seven, the bodyguards that stay the night walk the grounds, the housekeeper is more interested in making sure the house is tidy than conversing with her employer, and the gardener only comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Maybe that's why he doesn't mind Yuugi coming in with him. He thinks he should be more bothered. This is his greatest rival, after all, coming inside his home for dinner every night as though he had no worries in the world at all. Yet, he just can't seem to care. The house is too empty and Seto has nightmares that keep him awake, and even if he never says it, he's a little grateful for the company.

He sits there numbly in the kitchen as Yuugi pulls out the plastic wrapped plates the cook left and sticks them in the microwave. Duck in an orange sauce. The cook tries, even if Seto is never there to enjoy the meals he makes.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," he says, and it's the same thing he says every night. A small protest, just to remind himself and the world that he _is_ a Kaiba, and a Kaiba doesn't need help from anyone.

"I know," Yuugi replies automatically, pulling out one plate and popping in the other. He brings it over, sets it in front of Seto. Doesn't say anything, but encourages Seto to eat with his eyes and his hands and his gentle, earnest face.

Seto used to hate that face.

Now it just makes him ache, so he picks up his fork and looks at his food.

Another few moments pass.

"I can take care of myself."

"I know," and there's the beep of the microwave as Yuugi's plate finishes warming. He comes and sits as unconcerned as if he spends every day eating dinner with his former rival.

Oh, wait. He does.

Seto _knows_ he should be more bothered by that. He just can't muster up the feeling.

They're silent for a few long minutes. Seto mostly picks at his food, though occasionally he eats a few bites when he sees Yuugi watching him. He doesn't ever have much of an appetite, but there's something about that gaze. Yuugi _expects_ him to eat, like he _expects_ Seto to be a good person, and even Seto feels somewhat ashamed when he lets that expectation down. So he eats.

"Am I sick, Yuugi?" he asks, and the question is different, unexpected in their normal routine. He hears Yuugi's fork stop, looks up to find Yuugi watching him with concerned consideration.

"Why do you ask?"

Seto looks down at his plate again, eating another bite so he can have a moment to formulate his response. Yuugi isn't moving yet. Probably won't move until Seto answers.  
He swallows, feeling cold all over again, and he wishes he never asked.

"Jounouchi…comes by every day. Every single day. And you…always driving me home, eating dinner with me. Even Masaki and Otogi call occasionally, and I see Honda drive by every now and then."

He pauses, stares at his plate. Swallows again.

"We're not friends, Yuugi. Not really. There's no reason…"

Yuugi just waits. Seto glances up. Looks down again to avoid that gaze. There's something in that gaze, something deep and tragic, and Seto really, really regrets asking now.

He stabs at the duck on his plate. "Never mind. Forget is asked. Forget I said anything at all."

Another long, long moment of silence. Seto waits, feeling cold.

"Okay."

He wonders if Yuugi is waiting for him to finish asking. If he finished the question, then Yuugi might tell him the answer.

Why does that thought make him even colder?

**XXXX**

He remembers having passion, once. A fire, burning bright, hidden behind layers of ice. He remembers enjoying himself, feeling a rush of thrill when he does what he loves, be it dueling or creating new games and systems or even just bringing a rival company to their knees.

He remembers _caring_.

He hasn't felt that passion in a long time. Hasn't cared in a long time.

He hasn't cared about anything since a car bomb exploded in front of his building, and he's not sure why.

Everyone around him knows the truth. No one will tell him.

He can't seem to get the question out.

**XXXX**

Yuugi finishes eating first. He's always done first. His plate is picked clean and there's still half a meal on Seto's plate.

Seto eats a few more bites, feeling the weight of Yuugi's quiet expectation, and doesn't look into violet eyes.

"I need to make a phone call," Yuugi says, and Seto waves a hand in dismissal. No need for him to stop the other male.

Yuugi nods, gives him a searching look, like he thinks Seto is going to do something stupid while he's away. What? What has Seto ever done to bring about that dark, contemplative, worried look in Yuugi's eyes? He wishes the smaller male wasn't such an enigma. He doesn't like puzzles anymore. He's already dealing with enough of a puzzle in his everyday life.

He _knows_ he's not okay. He _knows_ there's something he's forgetting.

That's enough for him to deal with, so Yuugi doesn't have to add to the mystery.

When Yuugi steps into the hall, the door doesn't quite shut all the way. Yuugi doesn't notice.

Seto stares at his plate and pretends like he's not paying attention while shamelessly eavesdropping, because it's about him and he kind of maybe sort of wants to know.

He almost wants to understand. Except he doesn't.

"There's no change. He still doesn't remember."

"I can't just _tell_ him, Jou. You remember what happened last time."

"He has to remember on his own. You agreed with me."

"I know, I don't like it either, but he won't remember just because we tell him to. You know how stubborn Kaibas can be. Especially this Kaiba."

"Jou, pushing him won't help. You _know_ that."

"Yeah, alright. I know."

"Okay. Talk to you later."

There's the click of the phone, and then Yuugi sighs. Seto gets the strange feeling of déjà vu, like he's heard a similar conversation before. Many times before.

But he'd remember if he had.

Wouldn't he?

He's forgetting something important…

Yuugi's steps are light when he comes back into the kitchen, but Seto doesn't look up from his plate. He doesn't want to see the look in Yuugi's eyes.

"Why do you come here every day, Yuugi?"

It's almost the right question, and there's a hesitation, just the smallest one, but Seto picks up on those sorts of things easily enough. "You're my friend, Kaiba-kun. I just want to make sure you're alright."

It's the truth, but it's the thinnest layer of truth. There are layers beneath layers beneath layers in what Yuugi's saying, and even more layers in what he's _not_ saying, and a part of Seto wants to know what was omitted. He's never liked unsolved mysteries. Except he has a feeling that this mystery is connected too strongly with the ache in his chest, and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.

He asks anyway.

"What am I forgetting, Yuugi?"

Another pause, longer this time, and then Yuugi lies, "It's nothing, Kaiba-kun."

"Yuugi…"

"Kaiba-kun. You'll remember when you're ready."

He hates the way Yuugi makes him sound so weak. _You'll remember when you're ready_. Like he's _not_ ready, like he can't handle whatever truth Yuugi carries.

If he wants to, Kaiba can ask again, and he has a feeling that Yuugi might tell him. If he asks again.

He doesn't.

**XXXX**

He remembers feeling cold.

He'd watched the TV, seeing his own grief-stricken face plastered all over the screen, and he knew he should feel upset or worried or maybe even a little scared. After all, someone had planted a car bomb under his limousine. Someone had blown apart his driver, and if Yuugi and Jounouchi hadn't stopped him, he would have been in that car too. He would have died along with…

…his driver, because there'd been no one else in the car.

No one.

He ought to feel _something_.

He just felt cold, and empty inside.

Yuugi and Jounouchi came in together, solemn and both a little teary. They both glanced at the television, and Jounouchi, in an unexpected show of kindness, shut the machine off.

Yuugi came up and took his hands, and even though he ought to pull away, he didn't bother. He was so cold, and Yuugi's hands were warm, and he felt so _empty_ …

And Yuugi had looked up at him and his voice broke when he stumbled over the words. _I'm so sorry, Kaiba-kun. Mokuba-kun was…he…_

Seto had just blinked, frowned. _Who?_ He was so cold…

It didn't make sense when Jounouchi snapped. _What do you mean, 'who'? You can't just pretend not to know! You damn rich bastard, you can't pretend like you just forgot and everything's okay-_

_Jou, he's not pretending_. Yuugi's voice, curiously uninflected. Still holding his hands.

Jou had stopped, staring, his arms lowering to his side. Searching Seto's face for…something.

_Oh god…_

Seto didn't understand. He didn't know why he was crying or why Jounouchi and Yuugi were suddenly looking at him with such pity, or why Yuugi squeezed his hands and even Jounouchi came over and put an arm around him.

He didn't understand it at all. He couldn't _remember_.

He was so cold…

**XXXX**

Yuugi leaves just before ten with a gentle admonishment to get some sleep. Seto lies and says he will. He won't get to sleep until after midnight, if he's lucky. He never does.

He rinses off the dishes, puts them in the sink. Going through the motions.

He spends a long time standing in the hallway, standing outside that one particular closed door. His hand is on the doorknob and if he turns it, if he opens the door and steps inside then he _knows_ he'll understand. He'll remember what he's forgotten, and he'll finally understand the look of concern and pity in Yuugi's eyes, he'll know why Jounouchi comes by every day, maybe he'll even be able to _feel_ something other than this freezing numbness in his empty chest.

But the last time he opened the door, his heart started breaking, and he can't do that again. Not now.

Not yet.

After a long time, he abandons the closed door and retreats into his lab.

**XXXX**

He has dreams, sometimes. When he's not being flung from sleep by nightmares and fire and blood, he has dreams of a little black-haired boy.

The dreams are blurry and faded when he wakes up, but he knows that little boy is important. Knows that his subconscious is trying to tell him something vitally important.

But when he wakes up he's always crying, tears rolling silently down his cheeks, and he doesn't try to figure out his subconscious's motives.

He almost prefers the nightmares to the dreams.

**XXXX**

As expected, it's past midnight when he finally drags himself to his bedroom. He dresses on autopilot, mind too weary to even think. It's almost blissful, this state of mindlessness. He's not worrying about anything, not trying to find that lost memory. It's not peaceful, but it's nice.

His hands move without his implicit consent, and when he's dressed, instead of climbing into bed he moves towards the nightstand. He finds himself with a small locket in his hand, the nightstand drawer open before him, and he doesn't know why he reached for it. Doesn't even remember putting it in his nightstand, if he's going to be honest with himself. He stares down at the item. He thinks he's seen this before, only it doesn't hold any meaning for him.

The ache in his chest protests that thought, and he frowns thoughtfully, tired mind slowly spinning into gear. He studies it.

The locket is shaped like a Duel Monster card. A familiar, interesting choice that makes something inside of him, beyond the ache in his chest and the cold numbness in his heart, glow with warmth. Without really thinking about it, he slides the locket over his head. It rests squarely in the middle of his chest, and when his hand comes up to grip it, it fits perfectly into his hand.

Curious, he snaps it open.

A bright-eyed boy stares out of the picture, with long black hair and smiling grey-blue eyes. He's holding a chess piece.

A blinding flash of pain sweep through him, bringing him to his knees. It starts in his chest but ends in his mind, and he feels like there's _something_ , just out of reach, and if he can only grasp it for a _moment_ -!

_Kaiba-kun. You'll remember when you're ready._

A sob rips from his throat, and the glimmer of knowledge passes.

When his head clears, he finds himself on his knees in his bedroom, blinking away tears. He doesn't remember falling. Vaguely remembers pain, but beyond that…

Something cuts into his hand. He looks down to find a small metal locket clutched in his hand, deep enough to leave red marks in his palm.

He snaps it open, studies the picture. The boy looks familiar.

Then he snaps the locket closed and stands.

Familiar, but not familiar enough. He doesn't know the black-haired boy with the bright smile. Obviously, if he knew the boy, he would remember his name, or something about him.

Taking off the locket makes his chest ache, an odd, hollow feeling right below his sternum. He ignores it, tucks the locket into his nightstand.

He doesn't know the boy, but the thought of having the locket close by comforts him, for some reason or another.

Maybe he'll pursue the mystery in the morning.

It's almost one when he finally crawls into bed. It takes much longer for him to fall asleep.

**XXXX**

Seto wakes from dreams of fire and blood with the taste of smoke in his mouth. He shivers when he sits up, running his hands down his arms. His room is abysmally cold. Was his room always so cold?

He rises, paces, just to get the blood moving. Maybe warm up a little. Maybe make his heart stop pounding. He wipes sweat from his forehead.

Just a dream.

He ignores the unease in his stomach and a cold hollow knot in his chest. It was just a dream. A horrible vivid dream borne from a terribly memory, but still just a dream.

Nothing more.

He feels like he's forgetting something important.


End file.
